Flower Crowns
by Uchiha Momoko-chan
Summary: Shion stopped caring about anything and anyone except for Nezumi, his most precious person and holder of his most precious promise. He made a flower crown for every tear he cried for Nezumi, for every sleepless night, for every time he missed him.


If Shion had learned anything in his entire life, it was to appreciate the things that you have, the precious things that you love. Because beautiful things can't last forever.

After Nezumi left, Shion held their promise of a reunion close to his heart and in the back of his mind to get him through the day, because to him it seemed absolutely unthinkable that Nezumi would ever break their promise. Shion was absolutely positive that Nezumi would return. Becase they were friends- No, they were something much more than that; the word 'friendship' couldn't possibly cover the depth and intensity of their bond. It was because they were each others special person. It was because Shion couldn't imagine a world without his overconfident and somehow endearing companion, a world without the recitation of Shakespearean sonnets and long forgotten soliloquies. Since Shion believed this so entirely, he hadn't considered the thought of Nezumi never returning. He just lived day after day, deep in the middle of the reconstruction of No. 6 and the unity of the Western District and the citizens of No. 6, believing that one night Nezumi would appear and everything would be back the way it was before, except more complete and more perfect. So Shion, thoughtless and busy with the movement of the world around him, nearly completely defined 'ignorance is blissed'.

On the days when he didn't have meetings to attend or bills to overlook or children to read to, he went back to the Western District. Walking through the ruin that no one bothered to clean up because they all relocated to No. 6, he allowed himself to remember and miss the days he spent underground with Nezumi, the days he spent washing dog after dog under the critical but still kind gaze of Inukashi. He visited the room that he and Nezumi had lived in together, reading plays he'd long since memorized, except now with only the company of a single mouse and the dust gathering on top of the room of memories. He sometimes read them aloud to himself, trying to match his voice to the expert quotation of Nezumi's, sometimes stumbling over words but reciting them all the same. Sometimes, he even slept in the bed that the two of them shared. He imagined that the scent of Nezumi still lingered on the unchanged blankets and pillows, and he could pretend that Nezumi was there with him. It comforted him some.

One day, when it was nearly two years after Nezumi left and No. 6 fell, and spring was just hardly there, Shion thought that it was simply too nice outside to stay locked underground. So he sat in a field of flowers that was located just next to the Western District, where No. 6 was still very slightly in sight. Wildflowers enticed him, since he was only used to the refined and proud flowers in No. 6 vases and rare gardens. He even found his namesake, and he smiled at the soft purple color. Without even really noticing it himself, he began tying them together in chains, creating flower crown after flower crown of bright and beautiful flowers. His fingers were clumsy, and they often fell apart, but it was something to keep his mind off of his life and the pain that he'd been expertly ignoring until this moment. He was so focused on his task that he nearly forgot that he missed Nezumi terribly. Life and days had become monotonous and monochrome in color; he would work nearly the entire day, lucky to get a few hours of sleep, and spend his days off in the field of color and flowers and anesthetics. The velvety feel of flower petals and the gentle smell of nostalgia that the Western District held left Shion in a nearly dreamlike state most days, hardly registering the world around him.

It occured to him, one day that didn't even have a memorable date because it simply blended in with all of the others, that it had been five years since Nezumi left. Had it really been that long? It must have been, because the layer of dust in his and Nezumi's old room had become so thick that even entering the room sent Shion into a coughing fit. But still he spent the winter and fall days in the room full of crumbling pages and frayed leather covers, reciting Shakespeare as though he didn't compare his own heartbreak to that of Romeo and Juliet's. Shion hadn't come to appreciate sadness, he realized, because it was starting to settle on him on the coldest days and chilled him to his very core, leaving him curled up and sobbing some nights.

"Shion, he's not coming back," Inukashi finally said to him one summer day, standing behind him with arms crossed as he sat in that small field of flowers and ignorance. She had become concerned with her friends isolation, as much as she hated to show it. "Nezumi's gone."

"Don't be ridiculous," Shion said, laughing as he completed another crown of flowers. "He promised, didn't he?"

"I told you before that he's a liar and a theif," Inukashi said louder, her arms dropping to her sides as a sad kind of look crossed her face. Was it sympathy? Pity? "I just hadn't thought that he would act that way when it came to you."

"Inukashi, Nezumi hasn't told me a single lie and has never stolen a thing from me," Shion said as though it were obviously, struggling with the thinner and more fragile stems of his namesake.

"He lied to you about coming back, and he stole your entire life from you."

It was true, and Shion refused to believe it. Year after year passed, all spent in a small underground room and a field of euthanasia, and Shion's life continued to pass him by in a daze of denial. He turned twenty, then twenty five, and he created thousands and thousands of flower crowns. He thought that maybe he could make a joke of it when Nezumi returned, since Nezumi always called him "Your Majesty". Maybe he could mention it after their reunion, because Nezumi would surely have so much to tell him, almost as much as Shion had to say. When he layed in bed in the small room, he organized the things that he was going to say to Nezumi once he returned. He had stopped even going into work, stopping going into No. 6. He stopped caring about anything and anyone except for Nezumi, his most precious person and holder of his most precious promise. He made a flower crown for every tear he cried for Nezumi, for every sleepless night he had because of Nezumi, for every time he thought that he missed him. He read Hamlet a couple hundred more times, because he knew how fond Nezumi was of the story. He wanted to memorize it and be able to recite it flawlessly. That would please Nezumi, wouldn't it? Yes, Shion was sure it would. So he spent more sleepless nights thinking about how he could incorporate it into their reunion, because Nezumi would definitely have so much to say to him.

How many snowfalls had he spent in their old room? How many springtimes had he spent in that small field that he used to forget everything? How many times of laughter, tears, smiles, pain, and maybe even new happiness had he missed, simply waiting and longing for Nezumi? He still refused to consider the possibility that Nezumi would break his promise. Nezumi wouldn't do that. Nezumi would be happy that Shion kept waiting. Shion didn't want to betray him. Shion just wanted to see him again. That was all he wanted, to be with Nezumi again. To see him in a place other than his dreams.

Shion completed another flower crown, and realized that he was out of flowers to use. He looked up at the nighttime sky, duller than he remembered Nezumi's eyes to be, and his wish came out in a hopeless plea.

"Come home..."


End file.
